Where the Heart Is
by Dreamnorn
Summary: Marik and Bakura are college roommates. They bicker, prank each other, and constantly grind on one another's nerves - it's all part of the game they play. But Marik notices something start to change in Bakura's demeanor... and he won't rest until he finds out what it is. Thiefshipping AU. T for cursing and suggestive themes.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey, hey, Yu-Gi-Oh fandom!_

_Thiefshipping is awesome. Let's just open up with that, shall we? To celebrate my love for the couple, I thought I would write a little something for them. Granted, I've had like eighteen thousand ideas involving these two as fanfics go, but this is the first one I started._

_Their personalities will be closer to the Abridged versions, because they're more fun to work with. I try not to make them go too over-the-top, though, so they have pieces of their original personalities in them. It's all up to interpretation, I guess._

_This story is third-person, limited to Marik's perspective. And since things get confusing easily, in this story, Marik is the hikari and Melvin is the yami. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Where the Heart Is**  
Chapter One

Marik was starting to notice strange things about his roommate.

These last few months of coexistence had brought the Egyptian a specific image of what life in the dorm would be like. Bakura, another student, would consciously not give a shit about most of what Marik wanted. Whenever Marik would try to study, Bakura proceeded to watch TV on high volume just to agitate him; whenever Bakura would try to study, Marik retaliated by singing karaoke at the top of his lungs. They would argue over everything, from pizza toppings to domestic chores to miniscule habits that the other would find outrageously annoying.

It was a routine they shared. A weird routine, one that had made a comfortable mess of their lives, but a routine nonetheless.

When Marik paused to consider their "friendship," if he could even call it that, he saw that it was built upon mutual layers of distrust and mischief. If anything, the two of them were frienemies; getting on each other's nerves was part of the fun. In spite of it seeming that such companionship would never work, that this level of constant irritation would one day wear them into nonspeaking terms, Marik was surprised to find that their bond was uncannily solid. Even when it didn't seem like it, the two respected one another. And talking to Bakura, just being with someone he could mess with and wasn't afraid to mess with him back, made Marik feel oddly content.

Not that he had much time to consider that, though, because Bakura began to slowly bend their carefully woven "hatred" into something completely different; whether it was intentional or not, Marik couldn't say, but he had witnessed… _changes_. Changes in Bakura's words, in Bakura's manner, in Bakura's very eyes…

And he was determined to find out what had brought them to light.

* * *

It all began one morning in mid November. Marik was finishing one of his luxurious 40-minute showers, feeling accomplished at having used all the hot water on the entire campus. The steam was so thick that not even Bakura's fancy knife work could cut through it. Humming under his breath, the Egyptian felt along the walls of the room as he got out of the shower, not even bothering to pat himself down with a towel before making his way to the bathroom counter where his pajamas laid.

As he put on his boxers, he heard an obnoxious thudding sound coming from the door.

"Marik! I've been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes, I need to take a shower now. My job interview's in forty minutes and I can't go in there smelling like bull."

"My _goodness_, Fluffy," Marik drawled, intentionally calling Bakura by his hated nickname, "maybe I wouldn't have gotten up to shower so late if, oh, I don't know, you hadn't convinced me to watch _Hannibal Lector_ the night before! It took me three friggin' hours to fall asleep!"

"The fact that you're a baby is no concern of mine; I just need you out of the shower."

Marik scrunched his nose. "All right, all ready! Frig!"

The barely-clothed Egyptian boy unlocked the door to the bathroom, releasing a bank of steam into the cool air of the dorm. "Satisfied?" Marik asked. Bakura ignored him, simultaneously plowing towards the shower and removing his clothes at an impressive rate. Marik waited until he heard the shower curtains close before he turned towards the mirror, pouting in distaste at the wet hair hugging his scalp and the general lack of eyeliner on his face. Quickly shimmying into his pants, Marik called, "I don't see why you're even bothering trying to get a job, Bakura. Everyone knows you're the so-called 'Prince of Thieves,' so what are you up to? Come to think of it, where are you even applying?"

"I have my reasons. And if you must know, I'm going for part-time night watchman at the Domino City Museum — the pre-midnight shift."

Marik could feel his pants cling to his legs from the excess of moisture on and around him. He decided he'd waited long enough to apply his eyeliner. "You told me you thought museums were boring as tar," the Egyptian skeptically responded, frowning as he realized he had just applied his typical eye makeup before his hair was fully dry. He covered his eyes with his hands and shook his head like a dog, splattering droplets on the mirror's surface.

"Like I said, I have my reasons."

The topic was dropped as Marik heard the shower curtain open. He kept his eyes glued to the mirror, fixing his slowly-drying hair into a halfway-decent state and brushing some stray bangs behind his ears. But when he didn't hear the sound of Bakura's footsteps, he turned his head around only to find a pair of mahogany eyes boring into him.

Marik's paranoia about the mass of intricate scars along his back immediately got the better of him. Clasping his legs together and crossing his arms, turning ever so slightly in Bakura's direction, he sent his roommate a glare.

"Is something bothering you?"

For some reason, that comment seemed to wake Bakura up. "What? No."

"You were staring."

"N-no I wasn't," the thief spluttered, averting his eyes. "I just need you to get out of here before I come out of the shower. I left my clothes on the nightstand."

"_Again?_"

Bakura mumbled something under his breath. Marik sighed. "You really need to stop doing that. We don't have any blinds in this cheap little dorm. I mean, what if some innocent kid outside sees you parading around in here without anything covering your 'Beaver Warrior?'"

"Get out of the fucking bathroom so I can gather my clothes."

"What does it matter if I see you naked? We're both men." At that comment, Bakura decisively glowered at some malicious, nonexistent spot on the tile floor. The tanned boy almost laughed at the intensity of his gaze. "My gods, Bakura, I had no idea you were such a prude," Marik snickered, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his lavender hoodie and swaggered out towards the 'living room.' He chucked the shirt on the couch and stretched, acknowledging Bakura's footsteps as he ran into their bedroom (one with two beds; after all, it was a college dormitory) to put on fresh garments.

Not even two minutes later, the thief emerged, wearing his simple white-and-blue striped shirt and, to Marik's surprise, a comically large black tie. When Marik turned to see it, he snorted, clapping a hand to his mouth as he struggled to contain a laugh. His roommate narrowed his eyes, not amused, before smirking. "Truly, Marik, one must understand how to balance casual and professional attire when applying for work."

"In that case you'll never get the job because you just failed _horribly_," the Egyptian retorted, small bursts of chuckles punctuating every few words. Bakura's mouth flattened into a line as he turned, heading towards the door. At the sound of the doorknob turning open, Marik suddenly remembered something. "Hey, Bakura!"

"Marik, I really need to go. What the bloody hell do you possibly—?"

"Yeah, sure, angry rant," the Egyptian spoke quickly, silencing his friend. "Bakura, could you come home before seven this evening? I need to study for this big math exam tomorrow and I could use the help."

"This isn't my 'home,'" Bakura spat. "This is a crappy little dorm where we've been forced to live in together for the school year."

"Are you going to help me or not?" Marik pressed.

"Yes." The thief responded so quickly that the Egyptian felt momentarily stunned.

Marik blinked. _Strange._ "Thanks."

At that point, the Egyptian decided to focus his attention on his shirt, pulling it over his head as he heard the front door creak open. Part of him was a little suspicious at how fast Bakura answered his request to help him study, but he discarded that after a moment or two when he figured the thief probably needed help as well. Neither of them were very good at math, after all; but if they worked together, they could probably manage it. Marik nodded to himself, satisfied at this conclusion, so lost in his own mind that he didn't notice Bakura giving him a long look back, running his eyes over his whole body, lingering on his face, before heading out.

* * *

_****__To be continued..._

_Man, this isn't even technically a chapter. This is a short-as-hell intro I cobbled together with an initial "chapter" of sorts. Honestly, I just can't get over how short this is. It reminds me of my first _Warriors_ fanfic... excuse me while I shudder._

_Reviews and favorites are always loved. Criticism is welcome, so long as it's polite. Thank you very much for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_...And thus begins the first part of my new, regular updating schedule! This story will be updated every other week, and the weeks between I will update my other current project, "The Lion and the Mouse." If you like Deathshipping, please feel free to check it out!_

_Sorry. I'm just proud of myself. I won't delay you any further. On with the story!_

* * *

**Where the Heart Is  
**Chapter Two

That evening, as expected, Bakura returned home before seven. He had what appeared to be a knowing grin on his face.

Marik couldn't say he noticed it immediately — he was much too busy beating up gangsters in a video game on their dorm's PlayStation — but when Bakura cleared his throat, Marik looked up, instantly noting a definite change in the smirk on his roommate's features. He paused the game and pressed the 'save' option on the menu as he chuckled, "What's with the smile, Bakura? You look like Melvin does when he thinks about killing people."

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," Bakura remarked mischievously, his gruff British accent gaining a sort of airiness that, for whatever reason, sent a light shiver down Marik's back. The Egyptian watched for a moment as the other student walked into their room, presumably depositing his bag, and turned around as soon as his older roommate was out of sight. Marik instantly placed a hand on his forehead as though he were trying to detect a fever. _Wow. I must really like British accents if I'm starting to think that even a guy can sound sexy with one._

"Are you okay?"

The tone was not concerned, but teasing. As soon as the words tickled his ear, Marik jumped, astonished, only to find that Bakura had deposited himself mere inches from him without his knowledge. "Wh— how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Teleport!"

Bakura rolled his eyes, still smirking in that weird, knowing way. It was starting to make Marik nervous. "Thief's secret," he whispered loudly, practically chuckling over his words.

Marik narrowed his eyes. "Why are you in such a giggly mood?"

"If you must know…" Bakura began, trailing off. He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a rectangular piece of paper in a suspiciously eager manner. The edges of it were frayed, as though it were torn from something. Flapping the paper in front of Marik's nose, he continued, "Here, here — read what it says."

Hesitantly, the somewhat perturbed Egyptian took the piece of paper from his roommate, holding it at a slight distance from his face to better make out the print. "'Limited time offer ticket discount,'" Marik read aloud, taking in the colorful words on what was evidently a coupon, "'Buy one ticket for _The Notebook,_ get one free.'" A spark of excitement filled Marik's being. _The Notebook_! How could Bakura have possibly known he'd wanted to see that? After all, Marik liked to keep his taste in movies a personal matter. What might have given it away? He possessed no current journal, nor any social media account where he would feel at liberty to divulge such information. He never spoke about it due to most of the boys at school agreeing it was "girly." In other words…

Bakura couldn't have known this. Not unless he had suddenly become a mind reader.

…

_What the frig?_

"Fluffy?"

Bakura snickered in an almost evil fashion at the nickname, looking as though he could barely contain his laughter. "Y-Yes?"

Marik took a deep breath. There was no way in hell he was going to let Bakura know that he had actually desired to see this. "You realize this is a sappy movie, right? A sappy, _romantic_ movie? A sappy, romantic _chick flick_?"

"W-what do you say, Marik?" The pale boy's mahogany eyes scrunched closed, a muffled laugh rattling in his chest. "You and me?"

Heat rose to Marik's cheeks at the implications of his suggestion, a twinge of embarrassment in his gut. _What the hell is wrong with him?_ "Bakura, if this is a practical joke, it isn't funny. And if you're actually asking me out on a date, you'd be rejected," Marik hissed.

Though Bakura's chortling had silenced, the cocky grin was still plastered on his face. After a short but noticeable pause, Marik added, "Besides, I'm totally straight." _Damn it. I probably should have said that first._

Immediately, Bakura's uncharacteristically broad smile was replaced by his usual scowl. Marik took a bit of comfort from the return of familiarity in his roommate's manner, but not much. Though his jaw was now set as it typically was, Marik couldn't help but notice a flash in his eye. It was something Marik had never seen before. Something abnormal. Something wrong. "Bloody hell, Marik, do you honestly think I would actually want to watch that drivel?"

Marik quirked an eyebrow. "Why else would you show me you had a coupon to the friggin' thing? I doubt you're giving this to me out of the quote-unquote 'goodness' in your heart."

Bakura turned his head away. That weird look in his eyes was still there, Marik noted, but it was now clouded by what appeared to be irritation. "Forget it."

"I will not be forgetting it, thank you," the tanned boy huffed. "I want to know why you, the living definition of the so-not-romantic asshole, had a coupon to _The Notebook_."

"You said you wanted help on your math, right?" Bakura snapped, swiftly and gracelessly changing the subject. He haphazardly grabbed Marik's calculus textbook, sending a few papers spiraling towards the floor, and swiftly opened it. "That's why I returned early. Rules on differentiating functions, right?"

"Fluffy—," Marik started.

"Great! Now, stop me if you know this one…"

"I command you to shut the eff up!" Marik tried again.

"'Change in _y_ over change in _x_ of function _u_ minus function _v_….'"

"Bakura!"

At the sound of his name, the white-haired boy trailed off, giving Marik a look that was somewhere between boredom and frustration. After a brief pause, he asked, "So you know that one, then?"

"_Bakura_."

"Gods, Marik," Bakura groaned, shooting him a resentful glare, "Could you do me a favor and just _drop_ the subject already?"

"No." The word was soft, but firm, just like the gaze Marik sent Bakura with his brilliant, amethyst eyes. Bakura still glared, but something in it shifted, softened, and suddenly Marik knew that his roommate wanted him to continue. Shifting into a more casual position on his side of the couch, he explained, "Look, if I hurt your feelings or something, I'm sorry, but honestly, how else did you expect me to react? A guy giving another guy a coupon to see a lovey film like _The Notebook_ and then asking if he'd like to go with him can be easily misinterpreted, regardless of whether he's snickering like a lunatic or not." Marik lightly snorted, flashing Bakura a playful smile. "Now would you please just tell me why the frig you even have that thing? Who would have thought the Great and Aloof Bakura was the romantic type! If I had a Facebook, I'd _so_ make that my status."

A growl escaped Bakura's throat, but a slight smile curled on his lip, eliminating the threat behind the sound. "No, Marik. Attractive as I am, I must say I'm most assuredly not a romantic."

"Well, don't you have quite the ego!"

"You only just noticed that? Bloody hell, Marik. I knew you were slow, but I believe you've just outdone yourself."

"Oh, piss off," Marik snickered, pleased to see that Bakura was being as snarky and 'smirky' as he usually was.

For a moment, the two of them chuckled, both glad that the heavier atmosphere had been lifted. Bakura tilted away, eyes shining with a sudden determination as he repositioned himself, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back, and resting his head in his hands. "I'm sure you're familiar with my record as a delinquent, yes?"

"Tssh. Who isn't?"

"Well," Bakura began, reaching slowly into his other pocket. "I had a plan centered around a certain unlucky viewing of _The Notebook_ and this." He pulled out a small plastic disk case. The words _Cannibal Holocaust_ were scrawled in unruly black type on the red CD within. "You see, Marik, I had the most brilliant urge to sneak into the theater and replace _The Notebook_'s disk with this one."

At the thought of floods of young couples running out of the theater in panic, Marik started laughing. "Oh my gods, Fluffy! I can totally imagine their faces!"

"Yes. Truly, that would be a sight to behold."

Marik smiled. "Well, I know you'll have lots of fun with that. Take a few pictures for me, will you? I want to see them, too!"

Bakura's eyes hardened slightly, smirk increasing in intensity. "If you come with me, you can see them for yourself."

"You…." The Egyptian's words died in his throat, surprise lacing his features. A foreign fluttering filled his stomach. _Did… did he just make me feel flattered? I don't think I've ever been flattered before._ "You want me to come with you?"

"Did I stutter?"

It was then Marik remembered Bakura's initial question when he had showed Marik the coupon. _Holy frig. Bakura's right; I really am the slowest person in the world._ Even with that thought of self-deprecation, the fluttering in the Egyptian's stomach wouldn't leave. _I have to be sure he means it. He was snickering pretty hard earlier. That's suspicious, right?_ "B-but why me?" Marik asked, voice hitching in his throat against his will. "Did you ask Ryou?"

Bakura snorted. "Oh, please, Marik. Like my goody-goody little brother would even consider such a thing. If anything, he'd probably want to actually watch the buggering film." Marik frowned. _Thanks, Bakura, for making me feel bad about my tastes._ "Besides," he continued, poker-faced, "He'd nag me far more than you ever could."

"If I can be so naggy, why don't you ask my brother?" Marik pouted, feeling somewhat insulted. "He would never nag you. I'm sure he'd love to help you inflict suffering upon others. You two would have more fun."

"That might be true," Bakura deadpanned, "if, perhaps, Melvin weren't a complete and utter psychopath."

"So…" Marik sighed, piecing things together, "…I'm the only one you can ask."

Bakura's back grew rigid as he heard the hurt tone in Marik's voice. "In a way, I suppose," he began cautiously, "Yes. You're the only person I give a damn about that I care to ask. Even if you weren't—."

He cut off abruptly, looking away. Marik's eyes narrowed, catching the sudden hesitance in the white-haired boy's statement. "Even if I weren't what?" Bakura mumbled something under his breath. For a brief moment, Marik thought he could detect a trace of pink on his cheeks, but it was extremely light. Passing it off as an optical illusion, he pressed, "I'm afraid I didn't hear that, Fluffy. Speak up."

"I s-_said_," the pale boy hissed, still avoiding eye-contact. "Even if you weren't, y-you'd still have been the only one I'd have asked."

The Egyptian's nose scrunched in confusion. _He's stuttering and trying not to look my way again._ "And why would that be?"

A low chuckle escaped Bakura's throat. "We work against each other so often in the dorms. I figured it would be an interesting experience for us to work together for once."

"You mean like partners-in-crime?" Marik asked, the corners of his mouth tilting up.

The un-Bakura-like bashfulness disappeared as his mahogany eyes looked directly at Marik's amethyst ones, his smirk as grand and confident as ever. For some reason, the sight of Bakura in this pose, with that smile, with those eyes, made Marik's heart beat with a loud and somewhat erratic tempo. "Precisely."

Doing his best to ignore the pounding feeling in his chest, Marik returned the cocky smile and silently offered Bakura a handshake. "It's a deal, _partner_."

Bakura returned the handshake, pulling himself into a normal sitting position and opening the calculus book again. The two looked at some sample differential functions, puzzling them out together, when suddenly Bakura began to snicker. Marik looked up from his chaotic mess of handwriting to see his roommate's eyes half-closed, clasping a hand to his mouth. "I—" Bakura began, a short laugh interrupting him, "I can't believe you thought I was asking you out!"

An embarrassed blush immediately spread across Marik's face, obvious in spite of his tanned skin. "Shut up!" That only seemed to make Bakura chortle harder. Marik pouted, crossing his arms and huffing defiantly. "Humph. I bet your idea of a romantic time is making trouble instead of making love."

Bakura absolutely _exploded_ in laughter, his sitting position completely degenerating as he fell over, nearly crying from a euphoric lack of air. When Marik realized how he must have interpreted that, he let out a loud noise of disgust, chucking a pillow from his end of the couch at the older boy. "My gods, Bakura, get your mind out of the gutter!" With that, Marik stomped off to their room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Bakura to clutch his aching sides.

As he slowly regained composure, the pale boy inhaled deeply, face flushed from laughing so hard. He gazed, eyes half-lidded, at the ceiling as he reached for the pillow Marik threw at him. His eyes drifted to the soft purple object as he rubbed his fingers along its silky exterior. Faintly, he could recognize the indentation in it where Marik's elbow had been not even a minute ago. "'My idea of a romantic time is making trouble,' ehh?" he murmured to nobody in particular, fiddling with a corner of Marik's couch pillow. He held it to his chest, nuzzling the fabric and letting out a soft sigh, as he pondered his roommate's remarkable yet unintentional perceptivity.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

_Gotta love "Marik Plays Bloodlines." I got the idea for the theater thing from episode seven. Do check the series out if you haven't seen it. Marik is a hilarious LPer._

_Writing dialogue can either be hard or fun. For this part it decided to be fun._

_Thanks for reading!_


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